


The Way It Should Have Gone

by The_Reverend



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:31:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Reverend/pseuds/The_Reverend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If only she had realized before it was too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Way It Should Have Gone

**Author's Note:**

> To be read as a post-episode for This is Not Happening

She paused outside the door, terrified that somehow everything would be totally different, as if the furniture and objects themselves would be instantly altered by this hideous fact.

Not wanting to be seen finally won out over fear; she unlocked and slipped through the door. No questions. Not now. She locked the door behind her and then pulled a chair against it. Then another one. 

She was not letting Skinner or anyone else get in this time. They had no business being here. No right.

She realized she was holding her breath and let it out slowly, taking everything in. 

It was just as she’d left it. *She*. Yes, this place had been under her watch for some time now, yet she felt like a trespasser this time, a tourist. 

**DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING. MUST STAY THE SAME.**

She wished now she’d never cleaned it up, looking for any odd wad of paper, stray sock, that had been tossed by him, so she could analyze it and say, **“Look, this is his! His touch!”** 

But everything she saw had been tainted by her sterilizing hand.

She found herself in the bedroom, staring at the sheets, which still bore the faint indentation of her outline where she had lain countless times to absorb some of him these past months. 

Nothing had disturbed her spot on the bed, and some sick part of her smiled at this territorial sign.   
No other woman will ever lie here now, she thought. Yet even as that passed she knew he had not taken another woman to his bed.

“I was saving it for you.” She heard him whisper.

“But you never asked me!”

“YOU never asked ME.”

“But I tried!”

Suddenly her protests and his sounded inexcusably pathetic in the presence of the unused bed.

Guilt, shame, stupidity and horror all clenched her gut as she realized what their pride had cost them. 

And what good was pride now?

She dropped to her knees by the bed, in weakness and supplication. Her nose fell to the pillow, dragging in the scent of him. Here was the one thing she had not cleaned, changed. It still smelled so strongly here, he must have abandoned the couch completely during their last year.

Had he thought of her more, lying here, picturing her in a similar bed? 

Or had the couch been too small to accommodate the thrashing that grew more frantic with each passing year? 

She knew some nights her bed seemed ripe to burst with her mounting need.

Now he would never know how she had played “Mulder”; taking to her couch, pretending she was him lying there, thinking of her, wanting her. All the things that formed in her mind were the words she wanted to hear, as she became him in his need for her, loving her. 

When she came, it was always with a bitter, angry force that it was not actually him doing it.

Perhaps he had taken to his bed and played “Scully.”

She started to laugh now, a high, maniacal laughter as the sheer stupidity of the past 8 years became clear in all their terrible magnitude. 

She fondled the sheets, releasing more of him to the air. 

It had been so easy, so simple. All she should have done was:

“Mulder, I want you. I want you, I need you and I love you. We both know how we feel and we’re wasting precious time. Come here.” 

And he would come and she would kiss him. 

Slowly, at first, savoring the taste and feel that she had longed for over 8 years, running her tongue around the outline of his lips, pushing inside them gently, feeling his teeth and the inside of his cheeks. Slowly she wrapped her tongue around his as he answered, the kiss deepening. She touched his cheek and smoothed his hair and kissed him everywhere, eyes, nose, forehead...She slowly, slowly, bared his body, exposing one golden shoulder to the light and her mouth. She suckled it gently, licking it, nipping, and unbuttoned her way down his shirt. He was gasping “Oh, God,” and moaning, “I can’t believe this,” and most importantly, “I love you, Scully, oh God, I love you, I’ve loved you forever...”

By now she was sliding his pants off, delighting in the slow revelation of every inch of perfect flesh. He gasped beneath her as she pressed him into his own bed, and she wondered how many times he had fantasized this exact happening. She’d have to ask him later.

She tongued his milky, hairless thighs, down his legs, nipped his knees, and pulled his toes into her mouth, one by one. He clutched the sheet and groaned. 

She traveled up the length of his body, sucking furiously at the smooth, almost feminine indent of his waist. His stomach tasted glorious, the few hairs tickling and tasting of an exotic food she couldn’t quite name at the moment. The valley of his chest created a perfect path for her tongue and hands. She encompassed the mound of firm flesh, tonguing the hard rise of his huge, firm nipples, biting his little nubs. She devoured his neck, sucking what had tempted her for so long, its buttery softness better than she had imagined, and she groaned against him, “Oh, God, Mulder...” 

She moved on to his ear, chewing the delicate lobe, sucking, swirling into it, and returned to his mouth, which tasted of everything, was everything.

They were both blind with need now, and she cupped his ass, watching him arch into the air, eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide open, cock hard and poking straight into the air in a desperate plea for her touch.

Only then did she stroke him.

They both moaned at the crushing power of that touch; he felt like velvet fire in her hand and she couldn’t wait to taste him, to feel that hot velvet on her lips and tongue. 

He screamed when her lips closed over him and she clamped her hand around his mouth, for fear of waking the neighbors. Nothing must interrupt them. 

He bit down on her hand in a fierce attempt to stay quiet as she sucked, his teeth and tongue attacking his flesh gag. God, had she dreamed of the fun to be had with that oral fixation...

Her fingers crept around to play with his ass and her hand could not muffle the shriek of shock and pleasure as she pushed into him.

She had always wanted to do that.

His hands clawed at her clothing. Somehow they both got her naked, and he stared in awe and wonder. He told her she was beautiful. He mimicked her actions, savoring her, reverently, pausing only to gasp for air and chant “I love you, I love you, I love you...”

When she couldn’t take any more, she grabbed his ass again, those perfect twin globes of flesh, and pulled him into her. The sound that came from both of them was a strained scream/groan/growl. 

Had there been any doubt that to finally sheath him would be mind-blowing? 

She had no idea who was thrusting against who, who initiated the pounding, but she rode him ruthlessly, grabbing and scratching his skin, biting his neck, his lips. She tasted blood, his or her own, and it drove her to the edge of control and she became an animal, fucking him, needing him, eating him, trying to take him in any way she could. 

They came, one right after the other, and the entire D.C. area must have heard them scream “Scuulleeee!” “Mulllderrr!”

 

She came, hard, against his sheets, the dripping wetness mixing with the hot gasping tears that already soaked them. Her mouth filled with foulness. 

She hated herself for contaminating his scent on the sheets. She hated herself for allowing the orgasm to eclipse her pain and guilt and shame. She hated herself for being too late. She hated herself for waiting.

She looked down at her sticky hand in disgust.

The sobs wracked her body again, crushed under the absolute guilt of the way it should have gone. 

But it was too late for anything else. Why stop now?

She crawled into his bed, and pulled the covers over her. A thousand missed opportunities damned her as they relentlessly played through her mind again and again:

“Maybe if it rains sleeping bags, you’ll get lucky.” 

“Must be fate; iced tea.”

”The world didn’t end, did it?”

A thousand missed opportunities. 

She retreated from the pain once again:

“Mulder, I’m so glad we did this. I don’t know why we waited.”

“Me too, Scully, me too.”

“I’m sorry I was such an asshole about his.”

“I’m sorry I was such a coward.”

She breathed deeply, crossed her arms over herself, and felt his arms encircle hers in the fading twilight.

“I love you so much, Scully, I’m never going to take you for granted again.”

“God, I love you, Mulder.”

She stretched her arm across the empty bed, and squeezed her eyes until she felt his body warm against it.

“We’re going to tell Skinner, right?’

“Mulder, he’ll probably throw a party. Or smack us both for waiting so long.”

She heard him yawn. She had probably tired him out.

“Scully?”

“Yes, Mulder?”

“You’ll be here when I wake up, right?”

“Of course, Mulder.” He sounded so unsure, but they both could easily think it had been a dream. Again. He snuggled against her now, sated, satisfied, and utterly spent.

She wept at the rightness of the feel of him against her, she wept at the joy of realizing it, she wept at the depth of love this man stirred in her.

She wept.

“See you in the morning, Scully.” She said, creeping towards blackness as she cradled the pillow.

“See you in the morning, Mulder.” She whispered.


End file.
